Requiem
by Solitary Shadow
Summary: Lolo was sent to help a self-destructive young hunter. Yet unknowingly she becomes influenced and falls deeper into despair, and the events that unfold as a consequence only push her further into insanity. Lolo x Guntz, mature themes.
1. Kyrie Eleison

**Disclaimer:** Lolo and related characters belong to Namco Bandai Games. Solitary Shadow makes no profits out of any of her works.

**Author's Note:** I'm starting another fic, yet another Lolo x Guntz. It's been nearly a year since I wrote Nightmare and I'm getting inspired - I think winter and autumn is the best time for me to get inspiration for Lolo x Guntz. That and Klonoa x Guntz is all I have been thinking about recently.

This is a new fic, emotional and typically dark. It deals with issues like cutting and mature themes, so don't read if you're offended easily. I plan to make this a threeshot. It might end up a normal threeshot or a very long doubleshot, depending on material.

Enjoy.

* * *

_- Kyrie eleison; Christe eleison; Kyrie eleison... -_

_- (Lord have mercy; Christ have mercy; Lord have mercy...) -_

* * *

He never leaves my mind.

Whenever I wake up in the morning, he is there, looking down sadly at me, his blue eyes soft yet dim. Was there ever a time when he had bright eyes? Never, I guess. I cannot remember his eyes ever having that beautiful, healthy shine that teenagers should have. His features, although handsome and fine, are clouded with sadness and hurt. He's so vulnerable, so closed to the outside world and I wish sorely I could help him get better. He's always there with me-

Well, he isn't physically there, at least.

He's constantly interfering with my dreams. I can dream about the Temple, for instance, and among the crowd of corrupt priestesses he would stand, looking at me, that impeccable sadness in his eyes. But considering the way the priestesses treat me - I think I would rather prefer watching _him_, as sorrowful he seems. He is pure, clean, and in a totally different level from those priestesses, one I have respect for. I feel that he is wonderfully chaste, although self-destructive.

There are things he does, things I cannot - dare not - comprehend. When he does those things I'm frightened. Why do I not run away, some might wonder, but there is something about him that is oddly addictive. I cannot leave him. There's just too much I want to help him with, and even when I know that he refuses help, I want to stay with him. Because...

...just _because_.

I like him too much.

I try and try to bring a spark of life into his eyes. Some days I succeed in making him smile, and I'm happy. Sometimes I fail, and he droops miserably, but he never shouts at me or treats me badly. He does the latter to himself. As a priestess sent to help him, I must continue with duties. That is what I am supposed to think, although I suspect that duty is not the real reason I keep on visiting his house; it is something else and more, I should think, and my pity is bordering on intense liking and care.

I get up and head for the kitchen, drinking a glass of cranberry juice. Looking at the crimson liquid suddenly reminds me; I put down the glass, wash myself, change and then pick up my bag. Of course, I rummage through it to check if everything is in there. I open a cupboard, take out a roll of bandages and tuck them away.

I'm out.

* * *

It's just the same record over and over. He plays Mozart over and over again, the needle on the old-fashioned gramophone sometimes jumping due to neglect, but he never notices. He just lies there, staring into space, listening to the unfinished score of Mozart's Requiem. He weeps as he hears it, his beautiful eyes glistening with tears. That is_ it_. He just listens to Requiem, sometimes singing along quietly in Latin over the harsh, unfinished notes, and cries endlessly.

And he cuts.

He doesn't particularly care about how or what he cuts himself with, I noticed; he'd use a razor sometimes, and when I confiscate it he just buys a new one, or makes do with broken glass. I remember when I took the entire stock of razors away, and he became deranged - he'd went and broken every window in the house, and when I came by the morning after, he was sitting amongst the broken glass, laughing dully as he drew rough circles on his hand and forearm with a piece of the broken window.

Talk about unstable, I'm dealing with a _psychopath_ here - a psychopath who's feared for his notoriousness whenever he goes bounty hunting. The only reason that he has not been locked up yet is because he minds his own business, and he's helping the police by catching people with prices on their heads. The police like him, although the feeling is not mutual. He helps with too much. So he's left here, uncared for except for my presence, cutting himself and weeping while listening to the agonizing strains of the record.

I open the door. He's dressed but not wearing shoes, lying on the couch with his eyes closed. The record is on, but quietly. He isn't weeping or cutting himself, although I can see some dark red rings around his ankles and wrists. Old scars. He doesn't stir and for a moment I wonder if he is sleeping, or even dead; but then he opens his eyes, greeting me with that ineffable sorrowful smile of his. He doesn't get up, but he smiles, and I smile back to him.

"Good morning, Lolo." He greets me. There are dark circles below his eyes, his cheeks gaunt and almost hollow, unspeakable melancholy etched into his face. But there are no tear stains. He always washes himself; sometimes more than twice a day. Everything about him is somewhat psychotic, somewhat obsessive, and I cannot understand those vices.

"Good morning to you, Guntz." I reply, using the softest voice I can. I take out the roll of bandages. "Your usual treatment."

Guntz does not resist and calmly holds out his left arm. His arm is ringed and scarred from many months of mutilation, and it's sinewy with firm muscles. He's physically fit due to extensive training. I wrap the bandages around his arm, and pats it gently as not to hurt him. "There. All done." I look pleadingly into his eyes. "Please, Guntz, is there any way you can stop hurting yourself?"

"No." Comes the soft reply, and I have to leave it at that, although I hate having to leave it like that.

"What a unique angel you are, Lolo." He mutters. "What a unique angel you are." And then he spirals back into sleep.

He always says that.

I look around. The room is dark, but well-cleaned; he is not a scruffy one. Sometimes I catch him polishing his guns, ready for the next bounty. His dead eyes focus on the metal, gleaming it and polishing it to perfection. His nimble, delicate fingers caress the weapon, almost lovingly, and he stares at it for a long, long time before moving on to the next gun. Guntz always does the same for the other guns, especially a unique rifle that he clings to whenever he is insecure or ill. "My lucky charm," He says to me. "It's my lucky charm. It's the only thing I can hold on to apart from you." I feel complimented, yet cannot help but feel pity for him. There's always the smell of candle wax and weaponary polish hanging thick in the air. Guntz doesn't care at all, but it makes me feel lightheaded. No matter. It's the way he lives.

He always has two straws in his glass. I suppose it creates the illusion of companionship so he isn't lonely. He does some very odd things also, like lighting cigarettes he never smokes. He presses the burning point onto his wrist or ankles and smile. I see the burn marks and feel sick every day - because unlike cutting scars, they don't heal as well and the scars stay for a long time. I've never been able to understand this - I've never been able to understand him. He is confusing and mysterious, even _deranged_, and I've got to accept that. He is Lunatean. Everyone has awkward habits and vices around them.

Of course, I would be lying immensely if I said that Guntz was the same. He isn't. I've always thought differently about him. He is outwardly strange and cruel, with a number of extremely destructive habits and lifestyle. But I feel drawn to him somehow and I share a level of understanding with him, even if I don't understand everything about him. I'd think he was a psycho and somewhat paranoid with all those little habits he picked up over the years, but he is thoughtful, even if he mutters to himself every time.

He lives simply and in the way he likes. He eats when he can, and goes out hunting when he can. He always succeeds in less than a week. Simple. And in his free time he'll sit on the couch and paint his arm red with blood.

"Lolo," he calls me.

"Lolo, such a unique angel you are." He smiles, stroking my hair in a very gentle fashion. It's a gift. A twisted, personal gift. He'll smile again and say in an almost inaudible sing-song voice, "Oh Lolo, such a unique angel you are!"

He sometimes asks about the residents of Breezegale and how they are all doing. Ah, and he asks almost constantly about Leorina; she used to be his roommate and former girlfriend before she left. Leorina doesn't ask about him. She doesn't care. Even though she's one of my closest friends, I hate her for not caring, because she's partly the reason Guntz is in such a mess. Oh, don't get me wrong, he started quite a while before she left - but if she had stood by him instead of rejecting him, I believe he would have healed. That's why he weeps. As he listens to Requiem he tends to cut himself over and over again, tears falling from his eyes and crimson blood falling onto the tiles. That blood is his way of crying out in despair. Guntz just doesn't know how else to explain it all, just how to express himself, because he never learnt. I cannot teach him. He does not want to know.

At the table there is a sponge cake. It seems to be one he made himself. A few months ago, he said that I could eat here if I wanted to. He cooks well, perhaps because of his hardships and way of living alone, and he's more like his cheerful self during those times. I rather enjoy watching him blend and mix ingredients, his eyes hovering over the tabletop as he recalls a recipe. I cut a slice carefully and take a bite - a slight tang of lemon mixed with cream assaults my senses, and I smile. He remembered my favourite cake flavour. I take another bite, and another. Apart from the sponge cake, there is only paper. Paper which he uses to write suicidal poems on. Something he used to do since he was thirteen, he told me, and he said that it wasn't serious.

I believe this.

Not because I'm heartless, not because I'm cruel. I know him so well. Whatever he expresses in words he never does. Whatever he indicates with actions he always does.

What a sad, miserable creature he is, I think, and I push away the plate. I go over to him again, sit down next to him and stroke his cheek. He's beautiful when asleep, a vision of heaven. If there was a God above other than the Goddess, I think that he will look like Guntz.

But when he wakes, he is doomed to hell, and remains so until his next slumber.

Poor, poor miserable creature, I think, and I rise, sitting back down on the armchair. No harm in watching him.

* * *

Popka's out there greeting me.

"Lolo!" He calls, happy for once. "Come over! Pango's made dinner for all of us."

"Who's coming?" I ask. I don't want to face Leorina, not after what I've seen today. I don't think I'll ever be able to face Leorina. Guntz was never mine, Guntz was her boyfriend and partner, and she hated him because he was twisted. I don't particularly like her either at the moment. She should have cared more. If only she had...

"Tat's coming, and so are Leorina and Chipple. Leo's not staying long, though." I breathe a sigh of relief. I won't have to face her for long. Thank the Goddess for that.

Pango is like a friendly uncle to all of us, wonderfully kind and gentle. Despite his work, I feel safe when he's nearby, because I know he's fiercely protective of those around him. Whenever I see him with Boris, laughing and playing, I smile too. How can one not smile with them around?

I go over and sit down for dinner. Tat's there, flirting with Popka. Dear Popka, so wonderful, like a sibling of my own. He understands little about my work and doesn't quite understand why I keep going there, but then I can't say much for myself either. Tat's a pretty thing too. They go so well together.

Chipple hands out the side dishes, not talking, but his smile says more than anything else. He's not too talkative, but under the care of Pango he's regaining confidence. Chipple's a nice guy, not one I particularly know about in detail as he doesn't talk often to anyone, but when we make conversation we're okay with each other.

Ah, but for Leorina.

She sits on a corner closest to me, talking to me constantly. She's perfectly all right when she's talking about her mission and her past adventures, and I listen intently, because those tales of battle intrigue me so. I have no idea why. Perhaps I wasn't born to be a priestess. I enjoy tales of destruction so much. But whenever she turns to talk of Guntz, I get annoyed. Because Guntz isn't the bad one, and I know because I saw for myself.

"Are you still going over?" Leorina asks me. I nod. "Goddess, Lolo, stop that. He's a psychopath. He'll persuade you that cutting solves everything soon." She shakes her head in disgust. "I've never seen a person with more issues than him. Why are you still going over here? I don't want you getting influenced by him."

"He's kind of alright." I mutter awkwardly. Leorina looks disbelievingly at me. She doesn't believe a word of what I've said.

"Was he hurting himself again today?"

"No."

"Thank Goddess for that. But I bet he'll be starting again soon." Leorina says dismissively, and then it's all over. She doesn't want to talk about him any more, even though she's the one who started the conversation, and I detest her for it. "Pango, I'm going now. Don't expect me back until late."

Typical.

She goes out every night looting or chatting up others. If she had used that time to care more for Guntz, I believe that he would have gotten better. It's at least partly her fault that Guntz is broken, but she'll never acknowledge that much.

Family dinners end this way. _Always_.

Every single time.

* * *

"What did he do today, Lolo?" Popka asks me, bright-eyed. I'm in my house, ready to sleep. He lies close, looking up at me. I rack my brains - what did he do today? Ah yes, he was writing poetry and talking to me about his past adventures. Right. So how do I put _that_ into words?

"He was... telling me about Volk City. How it all used to be before it was ruined. Apparently it was prosperous and grand before people began fighting and ruined it all."

"Seriously?" Popka's eyes are wide. He doesn't like Volk City, but I have a feeling that if I explain further, it might quench his continous dislike for the city itself. He's so easygoing like that. I love Popka like a brother.

"And he was writing too, writing about-" I stop and dither. I have no idea what to say now. Popka waits, but I have little idea how to finish my sentence. I can't tell him the truth, I simply can't, because it hurts too much.

"What did he write about?"

"Cutting himself." I finish. There's nothing else I can say. Popka's eyes widen. Ah, Popka's not entirely new to the cutting concept, but he isn't familiar with it either. He craves attention, pure, innocent, gentle, always wanting to be loved. He has been abandoned before and doesn't want that to happen again. He wants to hurt himself because he thinks he's ungrateful. I want to hurt myself for him so he won't have to. I've never cut before, but I want to. I want to tell Popka every detail, how sick and thrilling it is all, how it feels to revel in the twisted pleasure when you look at your mutilated arm. I want to tell him how satisfying it is to look at those simple scars, but there is nothing about it I can tell, because I never did it to myself. When I look in the mirror I see a pale, guant face looking back at me and I smile. It feels good to starve your body of the attention it needs.

Cutting looks nice. I want to do it myself. The image is delightful, seductive, and beautiful. But how can I explain this?

"Cutting himself? Has he been doing that again?"

"Yes," I blurt out, the words coming out in a rush. "Yes, he _cuts_ himself! There's always a razor dripping blood _somewhere_ around the house, and he's forever pressing_ cigarettes _into his skin, and- and-" I'm aware that the other neighbours must be hearing the racket I'm making. But I can't stop. "He's always a bloody _mess_, there are all those _gashes_ on his arms and wrists, he's laughing as he does it-" I'm aware Pango is pulling me, yelling at the other people to try to calm me down. "There are rings of blood around his ankles and he- he can't even- even_ walk _without-" I'm screaming. There are more people now, trying to restrain me. I see blood. Trickling down my fingers, his fingers, his laugh and dead hollow eyes. "Stop it, stop it!"

"Lolo, calm down!" Pango shouts, holding me close.

I let out a strangled gasp, and then my body shudders. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh Goddess, I'm so _sorry_." I whisper. "He _cut_... there was blood... that's all. That's... that's really all. _Enough_. I'm sorry. That's... all."

"Oh Goddess, the poor thing..."

"What is the High Priestess _doing_, continously letting her go there?"

"Shouldn't be allowed..."

"The poor child's losing her mind..."

I don't know who's talking anymore. I don't care. Besides all the murmurs, there is another voice, ringing crystal clear out to me. I recognize it.

"Hang in there, Lolo. Calm down. Everything's fine."

But it isn't, it isn't, it isn't.

* * *

...Oooh.

Everyone's kind of OOC here, as you can tell. Next part will be coming along soon.


	2. Dies Irae

**Disclaimer:** What I said in the first chapter.

**Author's Note:** This chapter's quite fast moving. It has a lot of things that seems to move on too fast, but I'll explain that next chapter. The next chapter might come in time for Hallowe'en. Then again, it might not come in time for Hallowe'en.

I have so much homework.

* * *

_- Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sibylla - _

_- (Day of wrath, a day that the world will dissolve in ashes, as foretold by David and the Sibyl) -_

* * *

"Lolo, what _happened_ last night?"

I look up, and see Klonoa hovering above me. I don't say anything and just sit silently, looking dully at the horizon. I normally would answer that everything's fine, that it was just a silly fuss, but it's just Klonoa. Awkward, quiet, mismatched Klonoa. No one else. It's not worth saying anything to him, of all people.

"Why are you here?" I ask him, straying away from the question. He flinches a little, hurt reflecting off his eyes, and then shuffles his feet.

"Tat wanted to see Popka... and I was worried about you..."

"Tat?" I repeat, momentarily surprised. "Tat's with you? What happened to Leorina?"

"She has a hangover. Tat wandered off to me."

I look over; he's right. Tat's here, playing with Popka, laughing and chattering. They're so perfect together. I love to see Popka with her, because they're a match made in Heaven. Goddess bless you, Tat, you're the best thing that ever happened to him. You belong more to Popka, or even Klonoa, than Leorina. She doesn't care for you much. Someone with half an eye can see that. I stare at them for a while until Klonoa clears his throat. "What do you want?"

"No- nothing." He stutters, a blush colouring his cheeks. I raise an eyebrow but don't say anything. Popka comes running at the sight, edging between me and Klonoa, not threatening to do anything but still ready for attack, should he do anything stupid. I pet his ear subconsciously, partly to give me something to do and partly to calm him down. Klonoa looks uncomfortable. Good. No use getting too close to people I don't know well.

"You're the one who said that everything would be alright last night." It's not a question. It's just a statement. But Klonoa nods, although he still looks very uncomfortable. Tat's hovering in the distance, watching us worriedly. It's alright, I glance at her to say. It's alright. I'll handle this. "And why did you think that?"

"Because it'll be okay no matter what, Lolo." Klonoa replies. "You're a lovely girl. How can anything happen to you?" Ah, such a vulnerable fool he is! Vulnerable, but adorable in the others' eyes! How can anything happen to me, indeed? Quite a lot can happen, in my opinion. Quite a lot _has_ happened. I snicker and stand up, gesturing at Popka.

"A lot can happen to me." I state simply, and then I hold Popka close to me. "Come on, Popka. We're going home for lunch."

"Are you going over to Guntz again after lunch, Lolo?" He asks, his broken-gem eyes glittering in the sun. I smile softly at him and nod.

"Sure, I'm going over. He'll have that record again. That's the only thing he ever plays."

"What was he playing?"

"Mozart. Requiem. It's unfinished, because he died while he was composing it, but it still sounds nice."

"Lolo, it's not good for you to go there." Klonoa cuts in. He's trembling, but he hasn't noticed. He's looking down. "After what happened last night... Lolo, please, don't go over there again. It's not going to do anything for you. You're already acting-" Here he breaks off, chewing his lip, looking anxious. I look at him.

"Go on, then." I say calmly. "How am I acting? What happened last night?"

"That's- that's what I want to ask you!" He stammers, although he still manages to sound frustrated. Which, I suspect, is the emotion he's feeling right now.

"I don't remember."

"Lolo, please..." Klonoa looks at me, begs me, his amber eyes deep with sorrow. I'm sorry, Klonoa. I _can't _tell you. I wish I could tell you everything, but_ how _can I tell you something I scarcely understand myself? How can I trust you to keep this secret, when Guntz is already so broken? Don't look at me like that. You know I'm not going to tell you anything. I _never _tell you anything. Stop asking me, go away, and leave me. I'll only hurt you further.

It doesn't look right. Klonoa should be bright. He should be happy. The morning light flickers and sends the tiniest flashes of jade into his amber eyes. There's green light flickering in his eyes and it _doesn't_ look right. Klonoa _never_ looks right. He never _feels_ right. He's just a vision against the sun, shining bright, but he'll disappear soon. Illusions always disappear. No mistake.

I laugh flatly. He flinches, and for a moment I see fear in his eyes.

Can illusions feel fear?

"It really isn't your business where I go and where I don't," I tell him while still smiling. He doesn't look assured at all. I assume that my smile is a flat one, one that Guntz himself smiles every so often. "So if you will please excuse me, Klonoa, I'm going home for lunch." Popka bares his teeth at Klonoa as I finish the words. Bless him, my protective Popka, always wanting to stay with me. I love him like my own brother.

"Just leave her _alone_, will you, Klonoa?" He growls. Tat, who's been watching this, floats over and looks sadly at Popka. "Oh Tat! I forgot. Lolo, will you let me down a sec? I have something to tell Tat." I nod and let him go. He darts off with Tat and I can hear snatches of what they're saying. "You won't believe, Tat... Leo's all in a tizzy again... Lolo says Guntz bled all over the book... before it all happened... What's Leo saying...?"

Tat doesn't answer much, but there's too much anger in her eyes, too much sadness. She doesn't blame me, because she was there last night when I had a breakdown, and she knows what the visits are doing to my sanity. She knows that I used to be happy and sweet, and easygoing. No, she blames Guntz too, because of what he's doing to me. I must be the only one in Breezegale who doesn't hate Guntz. Klonoa's watching them with me, and he has the same dark expression on his face too.

"You shouldn't tell him those things, Lolo." He says quietly. "You should't ruin him with all those... stories." He turns away and calls to the both of them, "It's alright, that didn't happen. By the way, Leorina's making a cake."

"A cake? Yay!" They both cry, and then hurtle down the hill. Popka calls back to me that he'll be having lunch back there. I'll let him. It doesn't matter. Tat'll be with him and I don't need to worry. But I'm - for the moment - occupied by this extremely _annoying_ boy, and I'll need to get rid of him.

"You're telling him it didn't happen." I say. He says nothing in return. "So all of what I said a lie, is it? Is that all it is? Does what you said now make me a dirty liar?"

"What?" He looks shocked. "N-no! Never!" Poor thing. His way of reassuring Popka backfired. I could laugh, watching this, but I'm actually still _too_ annoyed to laugh. "It's just that you shouldn't - tell him all this, he's your-"

"Yes, he's my best friend. Better than you are." I shoot back at him. "He lives with me. He trusts me. I'm going to tell him what I will, and I'm also going to tell him anything he asks for." I turn away. "I'm going. And I don't want you to follow me or ask questions about it."

"Lolo-"

"Go away."

"Lolo, please-"

"Go away."

"Please come back, Lolo-"

"Stop it!"

"_You_ stop it, Lolo!" He finally shouts. "_You_ stop it!" I freeze, and turn to him. This is nothing that I've expected. I'm actually surprised - I don't know, I'm standing here and I'm actually _surprised_. Klonoa's body is shaking, his eyes wild with anger. "Stop this! Stop _all _of this! Stop hurting Popka with all those tales, Lolo, and stop making us all pity you, because there's no _point_ to it! You stop saying those things and get a hold of yourself, you _hear_ me?"

He's angry.

Klonoa never gets angry.

I'm the source of his anger. I've made him feel hurt, and I get shouted at. Great. So what happens now? I can't look at him anymore, because his eyes would be full of tears of anger and sadness. Anger, yes, at me and everything else. Sadness because he can't do anything else for me. I turn on my heels and walk away.

"Running away, Lolo?" His voice is low. Klonoa sounds like he's trying his hardest to stop shouting out again. "That's all you ever do, isn't it? You hurt everyone around you and you run away, because you can't handle it yourself. Because you know you're no better than anyone else here. And then you come back and everything gets worse."

I let myself stop, and glance at my pale shadow before replying.

"I never said I was, Klonoa."

And I walk away again. I make sure that I'm standing quite a way away from him before I say something, just loud enough for him to hear. "And you never cared in the first place. You all made me worthless, all of you."

That's what I am. Worthless.

How brilliant.

* * *

"Lolo..." A voice calls me.

"Hmm?" I look up, packing my bag, ready to go over to Guntz's place. Tat hovers at the doorway, watching me sadly, her eyes dim. I've never seen her like this. I bet it's because of the things I was telling Popka the other day. But she never blames me, Goddess Bless, because she knows the truth.

"It's my fault that Popka's like that. I can't seem to help it." I say quietly. Tat shakes her head.

"It isn't your fault, Lolo. But I'm worried about Popka - I'm worried about you."

I sigh. "It's far too late to be worrying."

"But still-" Tat sighs also. "Look, I heard what Klonoa was shouting at you. Lolo, I'm not saying he's right," She quickly says when I open my mouth to argue. "But he's right about one thing. I'm worried, Lolo - Guntz's place is too..." She gestures hopelessly with a paw. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to describe it. But by the sound of how you describe it all, it sounds too morbid."

"Morbid is right." I laugh. "But nobody's stopping me. Klonoa might try, but I can take him on if he wants to."

"But it's Klonoa." Tat says softly. "He's worried about you."

"So is everyone else in Breezegale." I reply. "Besides, it's just Klonoa who's all ticked at me. I don't care."

"Be careful, Lolo. I care about you. I know Leo was harsh on Guntz - I was there when she dumped him." I stop packing and stare at her, eyes wide. Come to think of it, I never thought that Tat would be there when Leorina abandoned Guntz, although I had known that she had been her partner for ages. "It was horrible. She kept shouting... and slapped him... and then she walked out. Guntz wept over his gramophone and then set it to Requiem, saying that he preferred to die. That's why he always has it on."

Trust Leorina. She ruined his life. That endless record's her fault too, if one thinks about it.

"Did he argue back?" Tat shakes her head. "But did you... visit him after that?"

"He wouldn't let me." She says sadly. "I tried many times. But he never answered. I'm guessing he didn't hear, because the music's too loud. Either that or he ignored me. I think the other is more likely, because he lets you in. His place used to be clean and tidy."

"But now..."

"I have no idea, Lolo, because I haven't been in since, but from what you say it sounds like it's been messed up."

"There are bloodstains everywhere." I say quietly. "You won't like it." I look at the time. "Sorry, Tat, I must go." She sighs again.

"I'm not persuading you at all, am I?" She states, with a soft smile. Despite the tone, I smile back, somewhat sadly. I reach out and pet her head.

"I know Leo doesn't care about anyone in particular," I say. "But you're nice. Popka will be waiting for you. Go now, I think he wants to stay with you." Tat blushes, but then she nods and floats out of the doorway.

"By the way, Lolo, he loves coffee cakes."

She floats away to the hill. Strange, she feels like a sister to me already. Being too close to anyone, for me, is unrecommended - but Tat's alright. Popka and Tat. They're a perfect pair, and if Popka's serious about all this I'll be seeing a lot of Tat anyway. So there's no harm in befriending another person in my life.

I pick up my bag and head off to Guntz's house.

* * *

Guntz is there when I arrive. He sits up and then his eyes brighten at the coffee cake I'm carrying. He smiles brightly - and I feel happy, because such a simply done act - buying a coffee cake - has made him smile. Today he'll be in a good mood, and probably will be for a few days. I feel warm, I feel happy whenever I see him cheered up; he has grown in me, and I feel that I'm relying on him a lot. He makes me happy.

"This is lovely," He says, eating a slice of cake daintily. He genuinely seems hungry. I bet he hasn't been eating for a while. I smile and pour myself a glass of red wine, pouring him one too. Rare luxury for both of us. Priestesses never get access to such things, but I'm not a proper priestess, not at all.

Guntz finishes his slice and takes the wine glass, sipping gently. He looks even more handsome today, even though his long curls are somewhat dishevelled and his eyes are only slightly brighter; his fingers, gloved in white, caresses my cheek and I'm happy.

"Guntz, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my angel." He replies softly.

"Will you teach me how to cut?"

He's silent for a moment. I'm half expecting him to say no and start brooding again. But the reply is totally unexpected.

"Sure," He says calmly, putting down the glass. "What would you like to cut with?"

I blink. "... Ex... excuse me?"

"You need something to cut with," He says again. "I don't think broken glass or the tip of a brush would be appropriate for you. You'd want a nice, clean cut, and besides if the cut's infected you have a whole new host of problems to deal with." He briefly strokes my hair. "I don't think that'll look appropriate on a lady."

"Neither are cuts," I argue. "Besides I don't feel much like caring whether my arm gets infected or not."

"Trust me, you do have to care." He answers. I sigh but don't say anything back. Strange, I would do anything for him without words, while I wouldn't pass a salt shaker at anyone in Breezegale unless asked. Especially not to Klonoa. I make a mental note to stay away from him now on, because it'll only end in tears or anger. But then I shake my head - what am I doing, thinking about Klonoa when I could concentrate on something better? Guntz is taking out something from a pack. It's a new razor. He hands it to me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Would you like me to cut for you? Or would you prefer to try out for yourself?"

"Mmmm..." I hesitate; I don't know. I can't rely on Guntz for ever, but then I don't know how to do this either. "Can you do the first for me?" I finally ask, and he nods. He feels for my forearm instead of the wrist, which is rather... unexpected.

"Doesn't it start at the inner wrist?" I ask. Guntz looks at me with faint surprise and shakes his head, running a finger down my forearm. He's so warm - he feels so nice, touching my arm like that, and it's strange. Normally he isn't like this.

"You start at the forearm and work your way down." He says. "I doubt that you want to kill yourself, Lolo. The forearm's the safer place where you can cut and not put your life at risk," He pauses while he reaches for the razor. "Are you _sure_ you want this?" I nod. He still doesn't look certain, and bites his lip, but Guntz is not one to retort.

Slowly, he feels for a place to cut, finally stopping near my elbow, and then with a sudden decisive movement flicks the razor down my arm.

I don't feel the pain.

But after about two seconds, the blood runs out, and with it comes a violent stinging sensation, so sudden that I nearly scream. Guntz holds me as I lurch forward, his expression somewhat regretful. Don't look like that, Guntz, I want to tell him, but I'm feeling too lightheaded to say anything.

"There you go." He whispers. I've been biting my lip to stop crying out from the pain; but when I look at the cut, neat and almost invisible if not for the blood, I feel that my problems have been lifted away. Of course that's just a mere delusion, yes, but with Guntz everything seems alright. I hardly even feel the pain now, and when I look at the beads of crimson slowly making their way to the surface and trickling down, it feels... nice. It feels right. Guntz wordlessly hands me a wad of wet tissue, and I wipe the blood. The cut's just a small white nick on the skin now, and it isn't even bleeding anymore. He must have taken much care.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Lolo." Guntz murmurs, kissing my forehead gently, making me feel startled. I'd forgotten he was there.

"No, you didn't hurt me. Don't think like that." I answer gently as possible. "Strange, Guntz... but I feel better than I've felt in the past few days." He looks concerned. Normally he only looks concerned about me for a minute or so, but today... I don't think he's going to let go of this matter easily.

"Tell me what happened today." He says, his hollow, dead eyes unusually intense. I can never resist that look. One might find that Guntz's eyes, although dull and glazed, still manages to convey more emotion than most people are capable of. His face can be full of emotion if he wants to and feels strongly enough. And today's one of those times.

I tell him, omitting the details that Tat told me.

* * *

"I'm guessing the villagefolk are displeased with me." He says hoarsely, when I finish. "Does that boy know everything that I'm doing?" I shake my head. Goddess, how annoying and disruptive Klonoa is! Funny Guntz had to mention him. I hope Popka gave him a proper hiding. He deserves that at least. If Popka didn't do it, I'll simply have to avoid him when I can and if I come face-to-face with him, I'll be ready for anything he throws in my direction.

"He doesn't know. I didn't tell him anything much."

"He seems to know the basics, at least." Guntz replies, looking pale. "And I guess Leorina would add on to it too. How's she, then?"

"Same," I mutter. I really, really couldn't care less about Leorina. She ruined Guntz's life, she doesn't care about Tat, and even though she's my self-proclaimed sister, she goes out partying and couldn't care less about her home village. I wonder where she is. Getting drunk and running in front of cars for fun, hopefully. Sometimes I wish she'd be run over by a car so she stays well clear of my way and my life. It might be wicked, yes, for a priestess to think such.

But all exceptions lie with Leorina.

"She doesn't talk about you much." White lie. Of course she does. _Bitching_ constantly about Guntz, how he turned into such a psycho, and other completely rubbish not even worth hearing about. "I think, Guntz, that she's moved on."

"True, true." He sighs. "And perhaps I should, too. But Leorina..." He trails off and sighs, mindlessly stroking his hair.

I hate it when he's like that.

"Why do you care so much for her?" I blurt out. "She's done _nothing_ for you! Guntz, what did Leorina ever do for you expect for hurting your feelings and abandoning you? You deserved so much more... so... much more than what she left you with!"

Guntz's staring at me.

And I'm half sobbing, shoulders racking, crying when I don't even know why.

How can I explain this... pain inside of me? Whenever Leorina is mentioned I think of her, and what she did to Guntz, and how she treats us nowadays. And after all that disinterest, why do people still care for her? Tat's still loyal to her and never leaves her side. Klonoa sticks up for her. Pango looks after her when she's drunk or otherwise unwell. Even Guntz... after everything she did to him, he still talks about her with a softness to his voice. Whenever he talks like that I feel this pang inside my heart, and I can't explain it, can't explain it at all.

Is this the emotion called... _jealousy_?

Guntz wraps his arms around me as I weep, and soothes me. "Shh," he murmurs gently. "Lolo, I didn't mean to hurt you. Leorina holds too much of my past. I find it hard to avoid the subject. However..." He strokes my hair, wiping away the tears on my face. "I'll try to keep from the subject from now on. And besides, Lolo, like you said, I must move on. It's been too long."

I don't say anything. But I'm not crying anymore. Guntz is too warm, too gentle, too soft for me to resist, and when he kisses my wet cheek I don't pull away.

"Beautiful," He murmurs against my skin, kissing me here and there, and I'm just staying in his embrace, looking at him. It feels right. I can feel him picking me up and carrying me somewhere, but I'm too focused on looking up at him instead, and I don't know where we're going. But it's fine. It's Guntz, I'm with him, and everything is perfect.

He lies down with me, gazing into my eyes with unusual softness. "Relax," He whispers, tickling me with his fur, making me giggle. "I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you." I believe him. He's too handsome, too beautiful, too wonderful - I don't think he will hurt me at all.

"Guntz, I-" His lips close down on mine before I finish the words. _Love you_, I silently finish as he kisses me. His fingers lightly graze the cut on my forearm, and then his hand presses gently down on it, covering my scar with his, soothing the slight pain.

I never knew that his fur was so soft.

* * *

This chapter is longer than I expected.

I've been writing this for about a week now, meh... but if you count out the two days I spent resting, that makes it about four days, I suppose.

God, I'm so tired... I must rest. Urgently.


	3. Pie Jesu

**Disclaimer:** What I said in the second chapter.

**Author's Note:** Alrighty. Requiem is finished. I've worked on this for... about ten days now. Whew, what a piece this has been.

The quotes you find at the beginning are parts of the general Requiem Mass, which also includes Mozart's Requiem, the central piece of the story. This chapter is really quite morbid, which you can probably guess from the quote below...

* * *

_- Pie Jesu, pie Jesu, qui tollis peccata mundi dona eis requiem... dona eis requiem sempiternam... -_

_- (Sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, who takest away the sins of the world, grant them rest... grant them rest eternal...) - _

* * *

The sunlight shines on my face.

I stir and awake. I'm rather slow in the morning, and take ages even waking up. A really bad habit, I keep reminding myself, but that doesn't stop my ability to sleep through five alarm clocks ringing at the same time. Talk about tired - I feel like my body is weighed down with lead.

I turn, and I realize I'm cradled in Guntz's arms.

I must have spent the night here. I have only hazy recollections of last night, but I know that. Guntz looks peaceful, truly peaceful and calm lying asleep on the bed. I notice that neither of us are wearing much, and well... I'm blushing. A lot must have happened... I can certainly say that. I stare into his closed eyes, gently touching his cheek and lips, wondering how such a beautiful creature had to be abandoned, had to fall from the world.

He stirs. I've woken him. Guntz opens his eyes slowly, and he blinks twice before his gaze focuses on me. He doesn't look at all surprised to see me next to him; he looks somewhat dazed from sleep for a minute, but then his face breaks into a soft smile. I can't help but smile back. How can I not smile back, when such a handsome creature's grinning at me?

"Good morning," he murmurs gently, his voice deep and soft. Just the way I like it. I lie back down next to him, and bury my face into his chest - ahh, he's so soft, so gentle with me. He's never been so caring, so wonderful, but he's stroking my hair now and murmuring soothing words in a strange language. It feels nice lying with him, his fur warm and silky.

"What is that language?" I ask. His eyes are closed and I momentarily think he's fallen asleep - but then his eyes open again, brighter and more alive than before, and he looks back at me with a dozy grin and a kiss.

"Native Volk." He answers. "My father taught me when I was little. I still remember it now. Come to think of it, Lunatean isn't my primary language." He shifts around in the blankets a little, and continues to speak, his warm hands running down my shoulders. "I've been travelling around so much... I think I know multiple dialects, and Lunatean is just one of many."

"But you speak perfect Lunatean!"

"Yes, because they speak it more than they speak any other language." He replies. "Volk... heh, I was born there. Hell of a happy place it used to be." He stops speaking, looking melancholy, and then for another few minutes I think he's fallen asleep. Then he wakes again and looks down at me. "The villagers would create," he says quietly. "If they know... they'll be looking for you..."

"I don't really care," I say, and I snuggle down with him again. "I'd much rather stay with you. Can we stay like this?"

"If you wish." He smiles, and then we're lying back down, eyes closed, completely relaxed. His fingers lightly ruffle my hair. "I love you."

I'm happy.

* * *

One week passes by in pure bliss.

Guntz and I... who would have thought? But we're happy, although we keep our relationship a secret from others. We're happy enough. I've never seen Guntz looking so healthy. His gaunt face has started regaining some more colour, and he doesn't look pinstick-thin anymore. All for the good, I think. He must have been like that once, and now he's regaining his charm. He doesn't laugh, not yet, but his smiles are definitely more frequent. He holds me close every day, telling me that he loves me.

I'm walking over to his house again, ready to give him a deserved hug and perhaps talk with him more. Then maybe we could cook something. Or just talk. Or curl up together to sleep. There are many possibilities, all of them sweet and wonderful, things that would make him smile.

But it appears that I was beaten by another person.

"What-" I stop myself before I say anything more. They're in a serious situation here, and I cannot possibly intervene. What will I do if I just burst in the scene? Besides, didn't she warn me about coming here? Didn't she? What will she say?

I hide in the bundle of bushes under the open window, the net curtain fluttering in my face, and look in to see Leorina and Guntz standing four feet away from each other.

"You're expecting Lolo." She states, not angry but not pleased to be here either. Guntz just seems somewhat flustered, and doesn't answer at all. Leo isn't expecting one.

"Do you even _know_ what all of this could do to her?"

"Why are you here?" Guntz sounds tired. "I thought this was all over?"

"Don't change the subject." She snaps, and inhales again. "Do you not think that your frequent cutting and the bloody record you have on will have an influence on her? This is serious, Guntz, and I heard that she had breakdowns already. Tat sticks up for you, and so does Lolo, but I don't believe them."

"How would you know, Leorina, when you are so obviously a partying spirit and has never personally witnessed a breakdown?" Guntz says, his voice flat, but there is silent mockery in his words. I try to stop myself from giggling. Leo's eyes are dark.

"Klonoa told me." Leorina says softly, but her eyes are dangerous. I know that look. It's the look she has when she wants to kill. I stand outside, looking through the window, wanting to help but unable to at the same time. "You do know who Klonoa is?"

"I do." Guntz replies, his voice calm and gentle. Leorina draws herself up to her full height, looking at him with faint disgust.

"Lolo told you, hmm? I bet you coaxed information out of her."

"Lolo comes here of her own will, Leo." Guntz says, his voice still so soft. Why doesn't he shout or scream at her? Here's Leo, walking into his house, condemning him, and he isn't resisting. "I did not force her to do anything."

"Lies," She sneers. "That's what you told her to say, I'm guessing, because that's what she said when I asked her."

"Lolo tells the truth."

"Shut up!" She suddenly shouts. Leo never shouts, except when she's ready to explode. Guntz reels back, looking stunned.

"I've had enough of this, Guntz." Leo snarls. "You're _breaking_ Lolo, you know that? She had breakdowns before, because of _you_, and you're of absolutely _no help _to her. Why should she come to you - why should _anyone_ come to you when all you do is feeling sorry for yourself-" Her voice steadily rises. "Lolo's just a child! How_ dare _you, Guntz! You shouldn't have shown her all those cuts, you shouldn't have had_ anything_ to do with her! It's all _your_ fault, Guntz, _your_ fault!" She looks quite, quite deranged now; her eyes are wide with fury. "Even _Tat_ was on _your _side, Guntz! _You_ turned everyone away from me! Stop this! Stop making yourself in need of attention! Stop drawing my friends and companions away from me!"

"I never did anything of that kind," Guntz says, his voice still soft. "Leo, I really did lo-"

"_Liar_!" Leo screams. "You're just a _liar_! You've _never_ been _anything_ more than a liar! I hate you, you _bastard_, I_ hate _you! Go on with your cutting, then," She sneers cruelly. "Slash your veins, why don't you? Then you'll be dead and you'll be away from all of our lives."

"Leo-" Guntz tries to say something, but he is silenced, as Leorina's hand harshly slaps across his cheek. He gasps and staggers back, clutching his cheek and staring at her. But she shows no remorse, her blue eyes icy and cold, her expression only showing hate.

"Expect the cops here in a few days or so, Guntz. I can't think why it hasn't happened sooner." And then she walks out, straight out to the rain. I'm hiding behind the bushes, my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from crying out, or leaping on her out of anger, or doing anything stupid. Guntz comes out also, but he doesn't stop her.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. Leo doesn't look back.

"If you _are _sorry, then go with the police and stay out of our lives. Stay away from Lolo, stay away from me and _everyone_ else." And she is gone, lost in the rain, lost in the darkness. Guntz falls to his knees, his eyes streaming tears, broken once and for all.

"Goddess, I'm sorry," He cries. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_, Oh Leo, my God, I'm so _sorry_..."

But she is gone, and Guntz is left weeping and saying sorry over and over again, his fists pounding the door of the house. He's bleeding, crimson specks all over the white doors, but he doesn't notice as he's too busy crying and apologizing. I'm sorry, he says over and over, until the words lose all meaning, but he doesn't notice the pointlessness of it all, he doesn't notice the crimson blood staining the white paint, and he cries and his clothing is dripping wet from the endless rain.

I slowly come out from the bushes, but he doesn't see me.

"Guntz..." I put a hand on his shoulder, but he keeps on weeping, although he stops banging on the doors, whispering broken words of an apology, against the rain. What a pitiful, miserable creature he is, I think, and I sigh, wiping away tears from my own cheeks.

I look at him, knowing I can't do anything for him, and realize (with a violent, sudden surge of emotion) that I want nothing more than to_ kill_ Leorina.

Her and Klonoa.

They'll both pay for this.

* * *

Guntz doesn't answer the door anymore.

I tried to go back three times but he never answers. I hear the Mozart's Requiem record, on full blast, but I don't hear him. I never hear him. I tried pleading with him through the letterbox, but there is only so much one can say through a slit in the door. The white paint is half scraped off, still stained with faint crimson speckles of blood, and it makes me want to retch every time I look at them. Compared to the cuts on Guntz's wrists, those stains are nothing, nothing - but seeing them somehow hurts more, hurts deep inside, and without him I have no answers. Shouts and screams won't solve anything. But neither will soft words and pleas. He is indifferent to both, and I know because I have tried both before. I've only tried coaxing him out of the house - if he is indeed still there - and I can't figure out how to get into his house when he won't open the door.

I've started cutting too.

Guntz is right, it is soothing. I'm keeping the cut he gave me even more secret. It's healing, but the scar will remain for ages. I like it that way. The first time I tried it myself, I was scared. But the pain is rewarding. It feels good. I don't think anyone knows yet, but I'm eager for Klonoa to notice when I have enough. Goddess, the look on his face would be priceless. How would you like that, Klonoa? You thought your harsh words could drive me away from that place. But to no avail, because I love Guntz. Feast your eyes upon my scars, Klonoa! They are the marks you all gave me, one for each hurting remark. One day I'll cut until I can't stop, and I'll probably die of the wounds, and I won't care. I'll laugh. I'll laugh at you down in hell, watching you pathetically crying all over my body, and I'll laugh until I can laugh no more.

I have do all of this also, in secret. Leorina doesn't want me to go there anymore, and she stated that explicitly. "It's for your own good, Lolo," she says. "Guntz is too unstable for anyone to handle. He might kill himself, and he might even talk you into it one day. He's good at stuff like that."

For my own good, Leorina? What good is that? Do you know what we did? Do you know that Guntz has marked my skin? Of course not. Because in the end you're blind, blind to everything, including Tat and Pango, caught up only in your selfish pleasures. You pretend to care, Leo, but you don't. It's obvious you don't care about anything about your life. You seek for pleasure and happiness, but you don't know you're actually fighting off all of the simple pleasures of life. Like Pango, who's a father you never asked for but wanted. Like Chipple, who obviously fancies you like mad. Like Guntz, who loved you, probably still does and you rejected and abandoned. Even Tat, who's been your partner for many years...

Speaking of Tat, I wonder where she is. Leorina was furious with her, because she had stuck up for Guntz. She was on his side all this time. That was Leo's fault too, because she should have noticed. Then maybe she would have understood. Whenever Leorina appears, Tat is no longer with her. From the look of Leorina... she isn't going to answer where Tat is, not anymore, because she just simply doesn't care.

I have to find Tat.

It is easier than I think; she's floating around the Bell's Hill, looking miserable and somewhat malnourished. Her spirit form is somewhat more transparent and keeps flickering, and she isn't smiling. It isn't like Tat. She should be smiling, she should be happy and cheerful, and now she looks so sad. It doesn't look right.

"Tat." I gasp out. "Guntz doesn't answer the door anymore."

"I know." She murmurs. "He won't ever open the door."

"I need to get in there."

"The last time I gave away information about him to anyone, Leo disowned me." That explains her complexion. Spirits usually are bonded with their partner or owner. Leorina must have been her formal partner and bonder. Tat is disowned. An outcast. Like me, really. "Don't try again, Lolo."

"Please, Tat." I plead. "Is there a separate passageway to Guntz's house? He's locked and barred all doors. I know there's one, I just don't know where." Tat shakes her beautiful head, looking sad. "I have to meet him, Tat. I'm going to break in there if I have to. Please, Tat, I need to know."

"...There's a drain manhole in front of the house," Tat finally whispers. "It's not really a manhole. Lift the lid and climb down there. There's a small passageway. When you reach the end open the trapdoor there, it's just a normal wooden trapdoor. You'll come out through the floor. Lift up the carpet, and you'll be right there in the middle of the living room. Leorina used to get in there in secret. That's why it's there."

"Oh, thank you," I sink down on the ground, breathless with relief. "I was so worried... thank you, Tat, thank you!"

"Leorina's going to be so mad at you." Tat says quietly, sounding somewhat regretful. "She already disowned me, there's no reason why she can't do something simillar with you. I don't want to get you in trouble, Lolo!"

"I don't care," I say as fiercely as possible. "I'm going and nobody's going to stop me. Not Leorina, not Pango, and especially not Klonoa. Back for me, Tat, if they ask where I am." She nods, albeit reluctantly, and I'm off. I run down to my house to pack a bag, and I'm out.

I pass Klonoa, who looks at me and holds out an arm to try to stop me. "Lolo! I-"

"Get out of the way," I yell, and I throw his arm off. He staggers back, startled that I've done such a thing, and it's my chance.

I run. And I don't stop.

* * *

Guntz's house is not too far away. I reach the house, but don't go for the door; instead I drop to my knees and feel around for the manhole lid. The front of the house is covered with a lawn, and besides, it's dark. I can't exactly see in this conditions.

Ah, there it is! Good old Tat! I lift up the rusty lid and look down. It sure does seem very dark. But no matter. I have a flashlight. I click it on, and shine the light below. I can see the ground of the passage, quite close to the entrance. This must have been purely a simple passage. There are no ladders, so I'll have to drop down. Which I do, closing the manhole behind me as I drop. I can reach the manhole and push it open if I reach upwards, so that's alright. The smell of wet, fresh earth is all around me, and when I half-walk and half-crawl towards the end of the passage there are sounds of cicadas and unlodging earth, pleasantly damp and soft. I smirk as I think about Leorina; how do you feel now, Leorina, that I'm walking along the passageway made for you? It was never yours. The passageway might have been designed for you but that doesn't mean you were fit to walk through it. How do you feel now, that I'm walking across the path that you once trod and disobeying your orders?

The passage itself is not very long; I've taken literally about twenty steps before I reach the end. I shine my flashlight up, see the wooden trapdoor - and I'm hesitating. What if he isn't in? What if he placed something over the trapdoor? What if he's lying right across the living room floor, sleeping, dying, or even dead?

I struggle with those voices for a while, but then my arm reaches out and pushes the trapdoor open.

The door opens very easily, although there seems to be a certain thing blocking the exit. It's the carpet, I'm sure of it. No matter. I manage to cast off the corner of the carpet and scramble out, closing the trapdoor. The passage is sealed again, and I replace the carpet, before looking around for Guntz.

The sudden fierce strands of the Requiem strikes my ears, and I reel back. The gramophone is on full volume, loud enough to make me dizzy. With an effort I manage to turn the volume down. There is something odd about today. There is usually the scent of incense, cigarette smoke, and blood in the air. His blood. There seems to be... a lot of it. The air is thick with the smell of blood.

"Guntz?" I shout out. "Guntz, where are you?"

There is no response for a moment.

But the sound of footsteps sound in front of me, and suddenly Guntz is there, looking at me with a curious expression. "Lolo." He says softly, not even questioning how I got in. Slowly, his lips part in a smile. "Oh, Lolo."

"Guntz!" I run to him and clutch him tight. "Goddess, I missed you so much!" He merely smiles again, and carries me in his arms, making his way to the couch. He lies down with me, underneath my body, and looks so tenderly at me - ah, how sweet his gaze is! How beautiful!

"Oh Lolo," He sighs, and then the sleeves of his jacket slip. I look down and gasp; the usual cuts have been reopened, the thin trickles of blood becoming a sudden downpour. I look around, and find a razor that is stained with red. It's bent out of shape. That was his weapon of choice.

"I won't always be here for you," He says again, his eyes sad and soft. His voice is unnaturally hoarse. "They're coming to take me away... Leorina called the cops on me. They'll be here next morning." He sighs, tears glistening in his beautiful sapphire eyes. "I don't want to go."

So that was it. He'd contemplated over the endless strains of his Requiem, and had cut, because he hated the news. He was going to be taken away, and he didn't like it; who would? He must have been determined to end it all, end his misery, end his suffering, and started again. He would have pressed hard. He must have reopened all of his healing scars, he must have cut, determined to slice at his flesh until he felt bone, wailing, weeping, tears falling from his eyes. He must have screamed until he was numb to it all, numb to the pain, numb to the hot rush of blood. He would have made himself hoarse in matter of hours like this. I can imagine him, cutting furiously at his arms, screaming and crying. And nobody heard him, nobody heard his despairing screams and wails, because his bloody record is always so loud.

So that's how you're ending it, Guntz. You really got too far this time. With something meager, something small and pathetic like the razor down there. I never minded the nicks you gave yourself up to now. But... now you've gone too far, you fool, and I can't help you. I want to help you, but your cuts are too deep. All you did up to now was to cut, hunt, and feel sorry for yourself while listening to that bloody record. I could have changed it. We could have been so happy.

All you talked about was how worthless you were, how worthless you were to Leorina, to the villagers. But maybe it's your own fault, maybe you made yourself worthless and you're more despicable than I thought. Maybe it was all your fault. You didn't have to be worthless.

Because I love you.

Worthless.

My mind flashes back to Klonoa, but I push him out of my mind.

"Guntz..." I can say nothing. He pats my head softly, and kisses me on the lips again. I feel blood, his blood, seeping into my clothes straight onto my skin, but I'm numb to it. I don't know. His lips are still soft, still so warm, and it feels so nice.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "I'm not going. I'll stay with you, Lolo my love."

How would I love to believe this. But I know it won't come true, it never does.

You were always, always talking about Leorina. About her, the love you had for her that she never returned, her mannerisms, your dreams. Why didn't you warm up, why couldn't you open up to the outside world? But I can't blame you. I'm no better. I pushed everyone away from me. I pushed Klonoa away, I pushed Pango away, I even neglected Popka because I was too worried about you and you alone, along with my reputation. I hated them, Guntz, I hated them, because I loved you and they didn't want me to love you. I am you, Guntz. I am you. You are me. We are equal.

Why are we always so afraid?

What makes us so vulnerable?

Why is there punishment, why is there sin, and why must we suffer both as a consequence to fear?

We all put up a brave face to hide how we are so afraid inside. Why must we? Why did we? Why couldn't we break free?

It isn't even your fault. It isn't...

"_Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini_..." He sings along quietly, softly, to the melody of the record. "_Hosanna in excelsis_..."

"What does that mean?" I interrupt him gently. He looks at me, his eyes dull and hollow once more, not replying for a while.

"'Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord'," He tells me quietly. "'Hosanna in the highest'. It's part of the _Sanctus_ movement." He says nothing more, his eyes closing. I'm kissing him, kissing his cheek and lips, hoping to get a further reaction, but it doesn't happen.

So your time must be coming now, Guntz.

"Oh, Lolo... Oh, Lolo..." I hear him cry out softly.

It's not my fault you're dying. It's not your fault either. It's nobody's fault.

"Leorina..." He cries weakly, longingly almost, his eyes glazed.

He's delirious.

It was always her, Guntz. Always. But you love me still, don't you? Because I love you, even though you might have loved her best. You're first priority to me. And for always.

I say nothing and rest my head on his chest, snuggling into the soft neck fur. His arms hold me tight, hold me secure, and I'm lost in the gentle warmth of his body. I watch as hot tears slide down his cheeks. It hurts. Cutting hurts. Of course it hurts, because we're harming ourselves, because we're cutting our life short, and he realizes that now. He was never immune to this torture and he knows it. It always hurts, the scars, the feeling of rejection, feeling of not being wanted, feeling worthless. We can try to hide it all we want but it won't work, because it eats at you from the inside, and if you hide it nobody knows. Nobody cares because they don't know.

"Lolo, such a unique angel you are." He whispers, and continues in that hardly audible sing-song voice, amongst the endless chords of Requiem, his arms trembling and fingers tangling in my auburn hair as he strokes it. His fingers brush over the cuts I made on my body, but he passes by them. "Oh Lolo, such a unique angel you are..."

But the words have lost their melody.

* * *

I feel the warmth of the sun.

When I wake, I blink and try to figure out where I am. It's hard to see. It must be around noon. There is something trickling down my face, and I touch the wet trail, my fingers coming away from the dark, sticky bloodstains. My fingers are stained with blood. In fact, there's blood all over my body. I'm sure the back of my dress is entirely red from blood, and there are rough marks and stains on my hat too. My face is alright, but even that has a streak of blood on it. I'm lying, curled up with Guntz, my head resting against his half-exposed chest. I fell asleep in his arms, but I no longer feel my lover's arms holding me tight, holding me secure. I feel his soft fur, and I stroke the contours of his face, running my hand down his neck and chest.

I can no longer hear the music. The record must have ended around midnight. There is silence in the room.

Despite the stench of blood I can feel the soothing warmth of the sun.

But I can't feel Guntz's pulse.

I force myself to look at him. He's still in the same position, his arms around me. I further force myself to look at his dead face - his face is pale and gaunt, his lips curved in an odd smile, eyes half open. But they're not seeing. They're not focused. There are tear trails down his cheek, but they're so faint. I can hardly see anything else. My fingers brush his skin, his bare skin beneath the fur, and I flinch. He's so cold already. There's blood everywhere, staining the couch red, dripping onto the floor, congealing into a dark mess.

I'm much too weary to move off him.

But there's a thumping on the doors that I never realized. The thumping grows steadily louder. I look back at Guntz, remembering that he said that the police would be here - I reach out to kiss his cold lips, and I close his eyes, letting him rest in peace.

And I hide, ducking under the trapdoor.

I hear, amongst the silence of the earthy tunnel, the thump of the door breaking open. There are footsteps rushing in, shouting Guntz's name, and there's suddenly a shout and various muffled cries of disgust and fear.

"Goddess, what the _hell_ is this?"

"Look at all this blood..."

"Damn it all, he's _dead_!"

"Suicide, I take it?" A calm voice says.

"It sure as hell would have been, Suiryu! Look at those cuts! Just how insane _was_ this guy?" Another bunch of footsteps. "My God, did he have a priestess in here?"

"What?" I gasp. And then I realize - I've left my hat there. No matter. They can't track me down. I found him myself. I've looked after him myself. He's simply known as number 43 back in the temple, and they have no means of tracking me down.

"A priestess?"

"It's a priestess hat."

"Don't tell me he actually killed one!"

Of course not, I want to shout at them. Guntz never harmed me. He harmed no one. He didn't even harm himself. I'm saying this because he was no one, because he couldn't let go of the woman he loved, and he forced himself to be no one. So there his fate befell him. But I've loved him, and he loved me too. I'm not going to share details, because I don't want anything more to do with you. You only want to lock people up in instutitions where they never get better. He told me, all about you, and from the sound of it you just plain don't care. Because you don't take the effort to try to know them. Men in white, you all are. White. White shows all the blood. White. Nothing more.

"Bring a stretcher here." One man calls from above. "We'll carry him back."

"That isn't necessary," Suiryu's infuriatingly calm voice replies. "We need to inspect the whole area. There is more than just suicide involved."

"I don't think so," The same man calls back. "Who could have killed him but himself?"

"Even so we still need to know a few things about him."

And they leave.

* * *

I leave the passageway when they're gone, back up into the house. The house has been severely disturbed alright, with Guntz's body still lying on the couch. He has been covered with a white sheet, a sheet that's steadily turning red from the congealed blood clinging to it. I dare to lift up the sheet, and look at his calm dead face for the last time.

"I love you," I whisper, and kiss him.

And then I leave also, taking my hat and borrowing a long coat from his wardrobe and a razor from the table. I walk away from the dark and dreary place for the last time; without Guntz it feels dull and dark, frightening even. This is a strange feeling I've never noticed before. Maybe I should have felt frightened. I take the long road, along the forest of Jugkettle, and stand head down, thinking. Thinking is my favourite pastime. I think of his guns. All of those guns and the care and cans of polish used for the guns and all the record and all the blood and tears shed at the expense of the record and the cigarette smoke he never smoked and the candles and the incense and the bent razor and the pieces of glass and the lonely hunter who died at his own hands and the books with the pages ripped out to wipe his own blood with and the memories of a lost love that never really existed...

It's all gone now, and nobody knew him, expect for a pirate girl who never cared, and another young girl who wears his blood.

Even that won't last long.

I run and don't stop, until I reach Breezegale, and I stand on top of the Bell's Hill, looking down at the houses. There is a stream nearby, and I drink from it, shuddering as I think about whether I might have swallowed some blood while asleep.

This doesn't feel real. It's like a twisted, morbid fairy tale, a tale no children nor any adults will ever hear or read. Because fairy tales never are morbid to that point. But it's real, and I'm here, the sunlight shining on my hair and the blood on my hat and all over my dress, staring down at my home village.

Stories are always written about invincible heroes who had nothing to fear. Or pitiful anti-heroes who tried to find their purpose. Both come out well, they always do. But what about the ones in the middle? What about the masses who are normal? Nothing. Because nothing about them makes a story. Nothing whatsoever. They're too simple, too boring, too average, and never worthy, never aware, and nobody cares because they only seek fame.

Me.

_Me._ I bite my lips and close my eyes, sinking down on the hill. _Me_, and no one else.

Why the_ hell_ am I thinking about all of this anyway?

I don't have long to live in this world. I'm merely a Lunatean, not some heroine who gains immortality, or a traveller who rids the world of evil. I'm sixteen years old. In average, Lunateans live to be sixty. That means forty-four years are all I have left in this world, which is not a long time at all. No. Am I supposed to hang in there, am I supposed to live? Yes, I think, because I live after all, it's a life... but odd... I'm just sick. I'm so _tired _of trying.

I've been for a long time.

I'm weak, I'm pathetic, and I've always been and always will. Ah, Guntz helped me, of course. He wasn't weak. He was one of the unlucky ones who were made weak and died in misery. So in the end, there really is not much difference between us. In stories everyone expect for the villain lives. But that's not true. The weak ones always die, they always are used, they're always taken advantage of, and they get nothing. Born weak equals dying weak. What really is the point, to be honest, in struggling if it doesn't get you anywhere?

Goddess... I think I finally understand Guntz, every little bit about him that I'd never been able to comprehend.

And Goddess help me, I think I feel the same way.

Oh Lolo, sink or float to the surface. And you'll know what to do now.

But for now I'm hanging somewhere in the middle, not sinking, not floating, merely existing and no more.

I want to hang on, but I'm not even sure about that any more.

A Moo passes by me, and looks at me with its bright eyes. I pat its head gently, because it's only a little Moo, and as I have no weapons no Moo is likely to attack me. They're courteous, little animals they may be. It chirps softly, and half-rolls and half-hops towards the distance, to its little circle of friends. It's strange, how the little things in life get ignored all the time and yet they're the most important things in our lives.

I wonder what the villagers would think of me now.

I'm not pretty like Leorina, I'm merely plain little Lolo. My eyes are blue. They are dull, although not entirely lifeless, and they're honest. Yes, honest! That's not a virtue nowadays, but it's a factor I suppose counts nonetheless. But if I enter the scene now, what would they say, a dark look on my face and covered head to foot in blood? Everyone's going to go ballistic. Chipple would go frantic and ask whether anyone had harmed me. Pango would try to take me inside and inspect me for cuts. Popka and Tat would be purely horrified.

Klonoa... he'd stand over and watch, his face paler than it already is, staring.

But other than that, who would care? Leorina's out there, away from Breezegale - I'm fairly sure of that. She's so pretty and charming that everyone ignores everyone else when she's around. When she comes back who would care for me, when I am merely Lolo and no more?

Nobody listens to a weed when a rose blooms in the distance.

Tat.

Oh, Tat...

Yes, Tat, you are beautiful. Faded though you may be, but you are beautiful. Yes, you are elegant. Take care of Popka for me, Tat, because I'm too plain and too wasted. Popka will be miserable with me. He loves you, and you only, and I can see that. Even though he's so eager to protect me - bless him - Popka needs love of his own. You're good enough, Tat, that you can lead your life with him. Without Leorina you won't be hindered either. But as the times pass by, people may regret the fact that they never knew us. We look different, but I know you feel like me and vice versa. I'm somebody who just didn't hide her own feelings for the sake of public appearences. I have real feelings, but _who's_ going to write about those? Who cares?

Unlike everyone else, I'm famillar with reality. When I am poisoned of life, there will be no more handsome princes to awaken me with a kiss and lead me away. My prince is dead, lying still under a white sheet, and there will never be another prince for me. I'm like Rapunzel, and Guntz is like the prince. He climbs to the tower of misery I've built around myself, all the while escaping from his bonds himself.

But then the endless scars and bonds win over, and he falls.

Leaving me imprisoned within myself.

I shall be elegantly shabby in the stroke of midnight.

Ah, you lot are only stories. Go back to your storybooks and stay there, where reality can never touch you. I am only Lolo. And that means I need to make something out of myself. And Tat...

Tat...

Goddess Claire! I never thought life would be easy. I've never asked for anything. When did life become so complicated for a girl to comprehend?

* * *

I stay up on the hill for hours, watching the world go by. It begins to get dark. Everything makes sense here. The detached parts of local life I've only seen in snippets... they all fit together, and it all makes sense. I will be easily spotted up here, I doubt it not - but that is if anyone bothers. Nobody looks up during the daytime. Pango will be frantic to find me, though... I wish I can quiet wracking his nerves. I love him like a father I'd never had.

Where is that 'sister' of mine? Out toying with guys in Jugkettle? My God, she's never going to settle down. There is Chipple, though, but he never is good enough in her eyes, so there is no hope there. She might see him one day, though.

I need to start hoping more.

I watch Tat and Popka frolic around for a while. It is all good there. Tat, don't let him go. He's too innocent and needs too much love. I'm not going to spoil his mind any more. Take care of him. You'll be so much better than I will ever be when it comes to caring.

Ah, there you are, Leorina. That's it, you two coo disgustingly while being caved up in some corner of Breezegale. But you better come back into your senses, Leo, before Huepow decides you aren't worth bothering with - which neither of you are - and leaves you for good. Goddess! It's like I'm the only one who can see the bloody hearts on their sleeves! So I won't bother with you any more, dears. Enjoy your time together, ignorant things. Who knows how long your worthless relationship will last.

I really need to stop saying that word.

Popka's not worthless. He's nice, and he and Tat fit so well together.

And I am his Lolo.

Popka...

Tat...

Ah, let's stop hiding ourselves. Popka, Tat, I care for you_ too _much. We've got a fresh field of stars to blanket us and watch over us every night. We can all live in a cottage together. We can be accepted. We can imagine we all have loving neighbours, friends and parents who'll never leave us alone, who'll care and love us most dearly. They'll tuck us in with a song. There is no more velvet to bleed on, because we _won't _bleed. We won't hurt ourselves any more.

Oh,_ imagine_! We can be pretty. We can be wonderful. We can have the world revolving around us. Let's pretend, Popka, Tat, that we don't need to hide anymore. Let's pretend that there are no villagers, no one we know of, who will haunt us.

We can pretend, can't we? We can think of that, can't we?

We can all pretend _we're_ all right.

We can pretend the _world_ is all right.

Yes... we can all do that...

"Lolo?" A timid voice calls me. "Lolo? Why- why are you up there? It's- It's cold! Listen, I-I was mean last week to you, and I shouldn't have-"

"You?" I ask flatly as I watch Klonoa struggling for words.

"...Yes!" He stammers. "Come down, Lolo... and eat something... you.. you don't look very well."

"I'm not."

"Wh... why not come down and eat something?" He looks flushed. Unusually flushed.

"I'm not hungry."

"Lolo, please..." Suddenly I feel like Rapunzel once more, and up comes my savior. But it's just Klonoa, it's just shy, timid little Klonoa, and he's no Prince Charming. More fiction. More make-believe. I laugh again. He looks at me searchingly. Oh, is my heart supposed to be beating now? I'll sigh and faint dead away, shall I, waiting for him to take me into his arms? It's certainly an amusing thought, and I let out another tired chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" He asks, his pale face looking somewhat pasty and bloodless. Strange, because just moments ago his face was pink.

"Nothing." Is that just me, or is there something hot trickling down my wrist?

"Nothing?"

"Yes." There is something hot running down my wrists. And I'm holding something in the pocket.

"Well... strange, but that's good to hear." He smiles awkwardly at me. I look at him, seeing the green spark of regret in his eyes again. I wonder what I look like to him. I turn and walk away, just being Lolo, the shallow, contemporary, pitiful princess. It's hot on the hilltop now. I take off my coat. I must look a right sight, my hair in a mess, my eyes dull, my clothes pink and plain and...

"B-blood..."

"What?" I turn my eyes towards Klonoa. I've forgotten that I had blood all over my dress. Klonoa's eyes widen, and his eyes drop to my wrists, where blood is trickling down. I've dug deep cuts into my forearm with the borrowed razor whilst thinking.

"B-_blood_!" Klonoa's eyes are wide, horrified, and he stares only at the back of my dress. "Lo- Lolo! No! Why- but - why do you keep doing this to yourself? Lolo! Why? Why?"

I listen to his whimpering, the soft scared cries as he moves towards me. He touches the dress, flinching at the crusted touch, and looks at my wrist. He says nothing, but runs over to the stream, wetting a hankerchief and wiping the blood away frantically. He hasn't noticed the forearm cuts, because the dress sleeves hide them. It feels nice to have the soothing coolness touch my skin. I don't want it to stop, but I have to say something anyway.

"It's not mine."

"What?"

"The blood on the dress." I turn my morbid eyes towards him. "It's not mine." I repeat flatly.

The blood was spilled from a fragment of a memory. I'll never see him again. It must be the shock ebbing away from me. I'm just realizing that now. Now, of all times. I must be slower than I thought I was, but no matter. I'll never see his tired, thin body or smell his musky scent or stay cradled within his arms listening to that forsaken Requiem again. His deep, melancholy, gentle voice will no longer tell me stories of his adventures or his past love. And he'll never walk on his toes again, and he'll never pretend to stand tall like that again, pretending to reach for something and pretending he can't grasp it... Because he never could. He'll never talk about Leorina again, because she never loved him, and it only hurt him more inside, and he won't pretend to be alright anymore. He'll never cut in front of me again, making me feel sick. But I feel sick now. I think of the house. Dark, smell of incense all around me, cigarettes he never smoked overflowing the ashtray. I want to stop that image. I want to never think of it again. Of the guns he seldom used. Of the perfume he never used, the cigarettes he never smoked, the fresh air outside he never inhaled, and the moonlight that kept him going when he was lonely. The sight of his gaunt, sad face looking at me. His blue, dull, dead eyes staring into space. The razor bent out of shape will still be there, dark blood crusted on the blade. The mug sitting on the wooden coffee table probably still has two unused straws in it...

"Lolo." Klonoa is looking at me.

"...Where were you last night?"

I laugh. Like hell I'll ever tell him.

"You were there again... weren't you?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." I reply. "Guntz died last night."

He gasps. Tears well up in his eyes, not one of sorrow but one of shock. Or is it truly out of sorrow? I don't know. I'm too dizzy to answer. I fall back on the grass, laughing weakly still, and my vision is too blurred for me. The stars above me close down upon me, making me feel like I'm enclosed in the blanket of stars, like I'd imagined.

Take care of Popka, Tat...

"Lolo! Lolo! Stay awake!" Klonoa calls me frantically. He noticed the cuts. "Please, you can't die!"

"Listen, Klonoa." I slur. "The police... will probably be here soon. Even if they don't arrive, tell them..."

"What, Lolo?" He's staring at me, eager for me to continue.

"That I was the priestess in charge... of number 43, and the hunter found dead in Jugkettle... was number 43." My vision is fading. I close my eyes, faintly hearing Klonoa's loud cries for me to come back, and the villagers rushing up to the hill, shouting.

I'm coming, Guntz. And this time...

It'll be just you and me, all right?

_What a pathetic, sad little animal you are, love._

It's all going to be perfect.

I know.

_What a sad little animal you are._

* * *

'Pie Jesu' is not actually a movement in the Mozart Requiem. But it's an optional mass movement, and I thought it fit with the chapter...

This story really did mean a lot to me. Every day passes by in stress and every day I get a little more morbid than it is healthy. This was an exploration piece, using the extremities of the main characters and greatly exaggerating their certain faults to develop into sucidal tendencies.

Did you like it? Reviews make my life really happy. Oh yes.


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